Archive for July 2007

I know and I don’t even want to argue about it. What’s the point? You would either agree or offer me a shrug of sympathy, coupled with dosage of hatred and maybe awe. I’m a bad man…spiteful, awful, horrible, that just reek of badness.

Anyway, living in such times I knew this time that it’s good to be bad. There’s not a slight of goodness in me. The word just juggles in my head, insignificantly, not even wanting to be there. But it is there. Nonetheless. Insignificant. Useless. As useless and insignificant as this life of mine. Being bad is not an achievement.

Like those failures that supports success, like pillars, my badness supports your goodness. It’s my being bad that heightens your goodness. Do you agree? Never mind…

A beggar raises his dirty hands into the air. A man just looks at a woman who’s laughing into the mobile phone. A woman throws a coin into the beggars hands. The beggar laughs. The woman shrugs and walks away.

Far across the street, a man shouts to his wailing child who’s holding onto his mother’s pants. The mother’s holding onto her crumbled purse. She looks vexed.

A woman stands beside a pillar, trying on a smile, with droplets of sweat forming on her upper lip as she hands over fliers to the passerby who do not or pretend not to see her.

A blind beggar walks along the pavement filled with people and motorbikes, a rather tiny yet loud music box and an aluminum coffer dangling by his neck. He blinks his sightless eyes and sings a tuneless song. Surprisingly, he never walks into poles or the speeding motorbikes.

Everyone seems to be busy. They come from somewhere. They go somewhere…

Do they realise they live? Do they know they must die? They must! Yes, they must!

‘When the wall breaks down,’ You think, ‘I will be free’ And embrace the cold world with hope.

The wall…the bricks… Block by block, they raised them high, To shield you from reality, To block you from truth The wall is too high, Too thick, for you to see, Must you break them down?

In the darkness, where you lie, It is cold, too freezing cold You cry for help, no one hears, And you cry instead, in dreadful anguish. The moment seems forever, Time seems eternal, still, And you feel your life prolonged…paralyzed.

You curse humanity, your birth… Your very existence seems futile. ‘Why must I be born?’ you sigh, And the answer hurts you, Surprises you…you are doubtful, You have no answer.

In sleep, when you dream, Your life brings you no glory, You are chained and imprisoned, Even as you dream Sleep torments you, You feel disturbed, frustrated, And wish an unholy attempt To let yourself loose, free, And you try an escape.

But the wall is too thick, too high You are blinded by your blunder, And you do not realize this. You must realize the truth, You should recognize the truth… You must break yourself free, The wall is no big burden.

Someday…when time guides your reason, Someday…when the wall breaks down, Time would have changed, Life would be different… Still so, you would be free.

It stood tall and green, even fresh too. Soft breeze would rustle its leaves. Rain drops fell on its leaves, the sound of which relaxed me. It protected me from sun rays.

It was the first thing I saw when I woke up. A great thing to see that filled me with a sense of hope and life. I often looked at it and smiled. It was a unique relationship, almost romantic…

Then one morning…I opened the curtain as usual, little smile playing on my lips. I looked out and it was gone. Grounded. I peered down and saw a group of men hacking its branches and loading it into a trunk. I cannot deny that I felt sad.

What harm did the tree do? Why must they cut it down? It was standing on its own, never getting on anyone’s way. It was minding its own business, protecting the people from rain and hot sun, providing clean air as it breathed the polluted air that we created.

There ended my relationship with a tree…

One day, I found a tiny seedling, its leaves fragile, yet fresh and green. I planted it a little away from the old tree that was cut down. I see it everyday. It’s growing up fast. How long would it take to grow up into a beautiful big tree? Would I taste its fruit? Would it ever grow up to be a tree? Would someone cut it down again? Anyway, it’s a mango tree this time.

In 1990, immediately before the fall of communism in Albania, Kadare sought asylum in France. During the ordeal, he stated that “dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible… The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship.”

In 1981, on a December night, the designated successor to Albania’s tyrannical “Guide” died of a gunshot wound; the Albanian news reported it as a suicide, but rumors spoke of murder. The search for the story of that night spirals inward from the speculations of foreign intelligence analysts to the posthumous and fragmentary recollections of the successor himself. Through those, we see his daughter twice forced to abandon love that conflicted with her father’s ambitions, and his son clapped in irons when doctrine required it. As Kadare explores the perspectives of those caught in the successor’s orbit, past and present, it becomes apparent that he is investigating not only the fate of a man, but the nature of truth when the symbol one becomes outweighs the human one is. Kadare (Broken April) was awarded this year’s Man Booker International Prize, given for a body of work rather than a single book; Arcade will re-release six other Kadare novels simultaneously with this one. The successor is based on Mehmet Shehu, destined to take over for dictator Enver Hoxha, and Kadare infuses his character with magical realist horror. Even in this clunky translation (from the French, as opposed to the original Albanian), Kadare stands with Orwell, Kafka, Kundera and Solzhenitsyn as a major chronicler of oppression.

Weird meme!*grin* Tagged by KC of the aptly called Earth-Bound Insight. Sorry, KC for taking so long (again!) to do this meme. So, here goes the weird meme, he he…

I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.

Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.

People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.

At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people (wonder if I have eight bloggy friends) to get tagged and list their names.

Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Random Facts and Habits (that you may not wish to know)

I hate perfume, whatever the smell, how sweet the smell. But then, it would depend who wears them *grin*

I waste my time on movies and sitcoms. I can watch old Japanese and Italian films like an obedient son without even blinking my eyes and getting up from the seat for long hours. I watched the entire Season of Lost (Season One) in one sitting. Took more than twenty-four hours to complete, with toilet and light snack break!

I sleep like a log. Once, I slept on Friday night to wake up on Monday Morning without food (but with bathroom break) and my family had even made preparation for my cremation *LOL*. This usually happens if I work straight on for thirty to forty five hours.

I am a good friend. If you tell me to give up my life for you, I won’t. What would be the point? I would rather stay alive to help you…*grin*

I’m a procrastinator (echoes KC).

I would rather read than exercise or diet. Better die a wise man than a healthy one…

I am obsessed about death. I think about death all the time, even during birth of anything (whatever this means!)

I’m a silent one, the dead one, when it comes to romantic conversations. Back in the good weird days, someone fixed me up for a date with someone. Blind date, so it was called. I walked alongside her offering tiny smiles and deep silence with little nervous grunts now and then. We walked silently for more than an hour until we decided unanimously to return. I was a bore, I know. Wherever you are and if you are reading this, I’m sorry. But let’s assume that I was mesmerised my your beauty and it was like watching the sunset in total silence. You would have enjoyed it anyway! But you’re beautiful…and I can be silent anytime I see you. Dear PC, I always remember the meditative walk we took!